


Onerous

by benduo



Category: NCIS
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Depression, Episode: s17e01 Out of the Darkness, Episode: s17e02 Into the Light, F/M, Missing Scene, Oneshot, Tiva/Tivali mentions, Ziva David Needs a Hug, Ziva-ism, awkward car ride snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22650832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benduo/pseuds/benduo
Summary: Ziva has a moment of self-reflection in the car; Gibbs is Gibbs.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Kudos: 22





	Onerous

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in October, oops? But thankfully we're all constantly obsessed with Ziva :D

Silence is no stranger to Ziva these days. She spent time on her own quite often, either at her office cabin or while on the run from Sahar’s people. Unless she was in the company of Adam or Odette, silence was all she knew. At first, when her supposed ‘death’ was fresh news, the silence unnerved her. The white noise she was constantly surrounded by made her skin crawl. Over two years of raising a child taught Ziva that silence was to be feared, not embraced. When her daughter was silent, she was likely making a mess of her toys or getting into something she was not supposed to. But Ziva found that this particular form of silence she sat in contained a different feel to it than the sort which she had become accustomed to over the past few years. This silence did more than unnerve her, yet she found herself unable to put a stop to it. Unable to stop this for him, or for herself. It was suffocating.

With Gibbs driving, Ziva’s hands were free to untangle her necklace from the severed fingers they’d been laced through. The man had wrapped them tight, taunting Ziva by ripping away the last connection to her precious Tali. She allowed him to toy with her emotions, too. She was vulnerable unlike ever before, and she let him use that against her. Some seven years ago, Ziva would have scoffed at the concept, and yet here she sat, staring defeated at a necklace that represented her vulnerability.

The clasp was broken, Ziva noticed, but it could be fixed. Perhaps McGee can help her with it, willing that Sahar is eliminated and she can return home. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that McGee would not want to help her with anything, would not even want to talk to her, because he hates her for abandoning her team and family. Ziva tried to push the thought away. She failed. Clearly this was not true. Clearly this was her mind playing tricks on her, right? The real McGee would never be as harsh as the one her anxiety created, would he? Battered hands methodically weave the chain in and out, up and down, her determination wordlessly communicating a message that her companion already understood. Of course he did. Gibbs knew her better than she knew herself sometimes. Without even glancing up, she could feel his eyes burning a hole into her side.

“Will you stop staring at me? I am trying to concentrate here,” Ziva said. Her tone was harsh, but she couldn’t help it. She was angry at Gibbs, and right now, she could not decide whether she wanted him to stay silent or speak to her. Whichever it was, she certainly did not want a conversation with the world’s oldest functional mute.

“‘Know that.” He shrugged, eyes turning back to the road.

Exasperated, Ziva rolled her eyes and returned to her task. At least the meticulous mission she assigned herself to kept her mind grounded. A long car ride was a recipe for disaster otherwise. With nothing to do, and no conversation to be made, Ziva would be forced to explore the dark corners of her subconscious. That area is where the guilt lay, waiting to pounce like a lioness on its prey. The Israeli did her best to avoid it.

The silence came upon them again, and Ziva could not — would not — suffer through any more of it. “Is that all you are going to say to me?” She searched his face for answers and came up empty. Perhaps she had forgotten how guarded he was. “We have been in the car for forty minutes and all you have done is ask where we are heading!”

“What else do you want me to say, Ziver?”

“I do not know! Small talk would be nice, but I do not expect so much of you,” she said, turning to face the window and watch the world go by. He has not changed as much as she assumed.

Gibbs made a sound almost like he was going to speak, but rethought his words and stopped. Perhaps she was too harsh on him. Immediately, Ziva felt another rush of guilt slam towards her, this time for losing her temper at the man she considered a father. The guilt piled on until the weight was too much to bear. Foolishly, Ziva held onto it like an anchor. Had she done this to herself? Is this her own prison, one she crafted and locked herself into? She feels guilt one moment, and then anger the next. It’s a vicious cycle, a wheel, going round and round until she is crushed by her own design — by her own mental illness, whether the anxiety or depression was to blame. Punishment for her actions, she supposes. For leaving her Tali behind, for keeping Tali from Tony in the first place. For not reaching out to let the team -- her family -- know she was alive, even if it was to protect them… The guilt even went as far back as Ari.

She could not keep him out of her mind since that Mister Rogers mentioned him being tied up in this mess. He has been her burden since the moment she took his life. Her brother should not have gotten himself into that situation, and Ziva knew she did the right thing, but she could not keep herself from mourning him, from carrying his burden with her everywhere she went. It was a different sort of burden than the one she carried because of her sister’s death, or because of her mother’s. A different burden than her father’s death, even. Ziva could not prevent the deaths of her sister or her mother. They broke her heart, and still do, but it was out of her control. She could not have prevented her father’s, either, despite how much she wanted to blame herself in a twisted way. No, the burden Ari’s death created was truly her own. _She_ pulled the trigger. _She_ ended his life.

Tears were falling down her cheeks, and Ziva rushed to blink them back in, but she was too late. She finally freed the necklace from the fingers’ grip, the bloody digits falling to the floor of the car as she clutched the jewelry in her palm. Ziva shut her eyes, as she brought her knees to her chest in the tight seat of their stolen car and buried her head in between. Too much guilt. Too many burdens. All Ziva wanted was happiness, but she kept herself from it as some sick form of self-destruction.

“You okay, Ziver?”

 _Oh, so now he talks,_ Ziva thought bitterly. “I am…” What is she? “Dying over spilt milk.”

“Crying.”

“Yes, I am. Did you have to point it out so bluntly?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. There was obviously something she missed, unless he’s laughing at her frustration. “No, the expression. It’s crying over spilt milk.”

“Oh. I see.” She was a little embarrassed now (not because she got the expression wrong, but because she lashed out at him again). And she was thinking about Tony, because he always corrected her idioms. Ziva lifted her head and wiped the tears from her eyes, knowing that this was no time to be weak. Not when she’s so close to getting back to them. Right now, she has to be strong, and she has to carry her onerous burdens. For Tony, for Tali, for Gibbs, and for herself.


End file.
